


like a knife in the woods, you hunt down the good in me

by AgentBuzzkill



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caleb's Just Got a Lot of Feelings Okay, Getting Together, Instinct, M/M, POV Second Person, Widofjord Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 19:29:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19279669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentBuzzkill/pseuds/AgentBuzzkill
Summary: Your past is marred with blood and ash, and as you escape an asylum in the dead of night the future can only hold more of the same. Wherever you go it will be to fester in your own fear for the rest of your life. You become accustomed to running, to hiding, to cowering. Never in one place for too long. Never getting too close or too comfortable.But you grow sloppy. You grow lonely. And in your loneliness there is a hunger, a need to be seen and heard and cared for. And you push it down for as long as you can but like bile in the back of your throat it rises up again every time.





	like a knife in the woods, you hunt down the good in me

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another self-indulgent thing for Widofjord Week! I love writing in 2nd Person POV and don't do it nearly as much as I want to, and it just seems to fit so well with Caleb. Today's prompt fill is for Insecurity. 
> 
> A thousand thanks and hugs to Amaronith for helping me whenever I was stuck on this. 
> 
> Title is from the song 'The Good in Me' by Jon Bellion

You are Bren Aldrich Ermendrud. 

Traitor. Murderer. Coward.

Your past is marred with blood and ash, and as you escape an asylum in the dead of night the future can only hold more of the same. Wherever you go it will be to fester in your own fear for the rest of your life. You become accustomed to running, to hiding, to cowering. Never in one place for too long. Never getting too close or too comfortable. 

But you grow sloppy. You grow lonely. And in your loneliness there is a hunger, a need to be seen and heard and cared for. And you push it down for as long as you can but like bile in the back of your throat it rises up again every time. 

Perhaps a companion or two wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Just to get a bit of protection. Nothing permanent, of course. You will travel for a while and go your separate ways as soon as you can. It’s a good plan, you tell yourself, and things may just be looking up for you.

And because your life is what it is, that’s precisely the moment you find yourself thrown in prison.

 

* * *

Nott is a blessing. 

She is a gift you think you may never deserve. Braver than you could ever hope to be, she helps break you both out of your captivity and when she’s done she stays by your side. She saves your life, despite there not being much at all worth saving.

Surely it is done out of some desire for protection of her own. She would not want to tie herself to dead weight (which apparently you are not, no matter how many times you feel exactly like that) and she is interested in your magic. 

You think you should probably feel used. Taken advantage of. It wouldn’t be the first time. But she leans on you just as much as you lean on her and you begin to see that she isn’t using you for your magic. She’s nurturing you. Encouraging you. And you are content to travel with her for as long as she will tolerate you. Things aren’t perfect but they’re okay and you think if you could just scrounge up a bit more coin and a bit more food things could even be good. 

And then you meet the others.

Traveling in a flamboyant groups has its uses, even if more often than not it amounts to one big headache for you. At least gazes are drawn away from you and Nott, far more interested in whatever mischief Jester is plotting or in Molly in general. 

You are still somewhat unaccustomed to blending into the background. In your youth you’d had plenty to flaunt, preening under Trent’s tutelage and eager to show off the results of your studies. Attention was the drug you craved most of all, and you were an expert at scoring it.

You liked the jealous glint in the eyes of other students. You’ve never admitted that to yourself before. 

Remembering that makes you feel dirty now.

 

* * *

Beauregard is abrasive. 

You don’t like her much at first, and you get the feeling she doesn’t care for you either. She is brash and intimidating and she reminds you a bit too much of old companions you’d prefer to forget.

_ Sharp glances shared over the pages of books. Straight spines as orders were given. Poison and cut throats. Crystals imbedded in skin. They had each other. They had The Empire. What more could they need? _

_ Past demons will always remain, clawing at your back. _

But in time she proves herself to be different than them. Better. Emotions don’t come easy to her but she is making an effort and even that is appreciated. 

You open up to her about your past and it is one of the hardest things you have ever done. You wring every word out of yourself, hating her just a bit for dangling access to the Archive in front of you like a carrot, for forcing you to rip open wounds that you’ve barely managed to suture closed with shaking hands. 

But it feels good, letting someone else know. It lifts some of the weight from your chest and while you don’t want Beau to have to bear any of your burden you believe her when she promises that this will stay between you two. 

She is the sister you never knew you could want. 

When you are standing in the basement of Yeza’s apothecary, staring down your friends and the sudden realization that you need to tell them what you’ve done, that you need to reveal that the man they’ve been traveling with has been a monster this whole time, Beau is the one whose eyes you meet. 

“Don’t run,” she says. And despite everything inside you screaming to leave and never come back, you don’t. 

 

* * *

Jester is amusing. 

A ray of sunshine, rarely dulled, always there to offer comfort and humor and slightly-stale pastries. She is stronger than she seems, and braver too, and unequivocally good, and she is one of your companions that you feel you deserve the least.

While you do not quite trust her patron, you trust her. You know there is goodness in her heart, and you want that goodness to flourish. There is a need within you to shield her from the worst of the world even if you know that isn’t possible. You have thrown yourselves in the middle of a war, terrible things are bound to happen. 

_ She is not prepared to fight for you. To die for you. None of them are, and yet you still lead them all to their doom. _

Despite the world you live in, despite what you know to be true, you still hope that at the end of it all she retains a bit of her softness. 

 

* * *

Yasha is steady. 

She keeps her space and you keep yours and there is a silent camaraderie that builds between the two of you. 

Somehow you are comfortable enough to allow her blade near your throat, and you cannot help but marvel at how close you have grown to these people. Even if her skills at shaving are not the greatest (but really, with a sword that size? You’re just glad you still have an intact neck by the end of the whole ordeal.) you appreciate the effort she puts in to care for all of you.

She shows her affection in her own ways, and you can respect that. 

When she tells you of her wife, of her tragedy, you ache with her. You want to comfort her and take away her pain. 

_ As if you could ever open up to someone so completely. As if you could tell your story, free of judgement from those around you. You will earn their scorn, their rejection of you, when they inevitably find out about what you did. _

You are beginning to understand what it means to truly wish to fight for someone. To hear their story and want to help them. Whatever she needs to help bring her peace, you know you are willing to lend a hand.

 

* * *

 

Mollymauk was brilliant. 

He crossed your mind often, even before he was laid to rest, but after that terrible day he felt inescapable. When you closed your eyes all you saw was him. 

Eyes that wouldn’t close. Blood staining snow. Buried and left behind.

_ Will they come back to haunt you? All the ones you’ve let down? You do not deserve peace, but surely their souls have better things to do than keep an eye on you.  _

_ Forever haunted by those who have suffered at your hand. _

But as time passes, it gets easier. You are able to remember his smile. His laugh. The flick of his wrists as he gestured while he talked. The glint of his jewelry in the sun. That ridiculous coat. 

The press of his lips to your forehead. A budding hope. A fleeting chance at something more. Gone before you could fully realize it was even there. 

A hole in your life exists where you know he should be, but you push on. He is not the first one you have let down, but you pray he is the last. 

 

* * *

 

Caduceus is a balm.

He is peace where there is panic, tranquility among anxiety. He brews tea made of dead people and you should find that disturbing but somehow he makes it charming. In spite of how cryptic he can be, by all accounts he is nearly an open book. Always willing to lend a hand or spare a moment of his time to listen to what others have to say.

_ Misplaced trust. Always misplaced. They are safer when they doubt you. _

You like yourself a little more when you’re around him. He calls you “Mister Caleb” and it tugs at your heart in a way you never expected such a thing could. You’ve grown used to wearing the name, of course. For the longest time it has felt like a mask to cover up the horror of what Bren did. To hide your shame. One more lie floating atop the ocean of your secrets. 

He knows who Bren is. He knows what you have done. And yet he still smiles serenely and offers you tea and while you never want to go back to being Bren, he makes you feel more comfortable as Caleb. As if Bren had never existed, and it was an undeniable truth that you have always been Caleb. 

Bren never would have deserved a friend like Caduceus. 

But maybe Caleb could, in time.

 

* * *

Fjord is an enigma. 

He is difficult to parse on even the best of days, keeping himself quiet and unassuming until someone asks something of him, until the group needs him to negotiate or strategize. You see yourself in him—someone trying so desperately to prove his worth, his strength, to those around him—but you wonder if he has made himself easy to empathize with on purpose.

Which is probably why he is the last one in the group you come to trust. Even then, you know he keeps secrets. You know the voice he uses is not his own. 

You tell yourself you can not fault him for that. You have secrets too. Everyone in the group has secrets.  But Fjord is different. You want to know him in a way you haven’t wanted to know the others. You want him to trust you with his secrets, with the story of his past. 

You grow closer. You share more space. Tell more jokes. Take more watches together. Make a blood pact at the bottom of the sea. 

He ties himself to you without thinking. How foolish, you think. How ridiculous. As if you would ever be worth such a bond. After the deed is done you are certain he will come to regret it, but he never seems to. If anything he spends more time around you, keeps a closer eye on you in combat, is more willing to volunteer to share a room with you, and you don’t know what to do with any of this.

Feelings stir within you when you look at him. When he smiles at you. Feelings that terrify you, that shake you to your core because you have felt these feelings before and nearly everyone else who you have ever felt them for has ended up dead. 

_ Your love is poison, you know this to be true.  _

One night, curled up in the same small bed, you let him know you appreciate him. It’s the least you can do, the smallest token of your affection you feel you can safely grant in return for his care and kindness. 

You will keep him at a distance. You will keep him safe. You will love him from afar and you tell yourself that is good enough. 

It will never be good enough. 

You know this and yet still you try to convince yourself otherwise. He is safer this way. Things are better. He will stay alive and you will be able to hear his laugh and see his smile and he can freely give his heart to another and you will be happy for him. You will have to be happy for him. Even if just the thought fills you with jealousy, a bitter taste in the back of your throat. 

The scar on your palm itches, sometimes. When he is in danger. When he is upset. When he wakes up panicked from a nightmare.

When he’s dancing with someone else.

You scratch at your palm, watching as he twists and turns with Jester in his arms. He lowers her into a dip and she laughs, catching the attention of everyone around her in the dim, warm tavern. She paid for the musicians to play a faster song, pulling Fjord along with the insistence that he needed to have some fun. 

They fit well together. Better than you ever could with him, you’re sure. She is a safer choice than you. As if you ever stood a chance at earning his affection, anyway. 

You finish off your drink the same time the song ends, and it feels like an appropriate time to excuse yourself and head up to your room. One bed, but Fjord still wanted to share with you anyway. Glancing over, you see Jester hurrying over to the band. Probably requesting another song. You imagine you’ll be asleep long before he joins you. If he joins you at all. 

You stand up, moving to grab the coat you had slung over the back of your chair, before the sudden sound of someone clearing their throat catches your attention. 

He’s standing there. Hand outstretched. 

“Do you, uh. Want to dance? With me?”

You stare at the scar on his palm.

“I-”

“Just one song. Please?”

You’re about to say no, but you make the mistake of looking up at his face. His smile is soft, the look in his eyes even softer. Beautiful. Just as he always is. 

The ale you drank earlier weighs just a bit on your mind and your tongue, and you nod. What’s one dance, after all? A small indulgence. A good memory to keep for later. 

He takes your hand and the burning of your scar is soothed. You rest your other hand on his shoulder, content to let him take the lead as he guides you to the small crowd of fellow dancers. The next song is slower than the last. Romantic, you think to yourself. His hand is on the small of your back and he pulls you close as you start to sway together. 

You let him lead and it feels nice. Dancing before never felt this easy. 

_ Her hand, slim and cool against your palm. Her body pressed against yours. Between the two of you there’s four left feet, and it’s more of a battle than a waltz as you learn to navigate the ballroom floor together.  _

_ She left you behind. They both did. Everyone will. _

You haven’t had nearly enough drink to think you’re dancing with her instead of Fjord, and you’re happy about that. The moment feels too good to waste; the feeling of his arms holding you close, his soft look as his gaze meets yours. A gaze so intense you feel the need to look away, to lower your eyes because the closer you get to him the more you want what you know you will never be able to have.

But it’s nice to pretend, if only for a moment. You’ve got what you wanted. He loves you and wants you and you are strong enough to keep him safe. This is only one of the countless dances you’ll share, and when it ends he will not let you go. He will never let you go. 

No matter that everything inside of you is screaming that you are dangerous and terrible and the best thing for Fjord would be leaving you behind entirely. 

You close your eyes and lean forward, forehead pressed to his chest, and you hear the slight hitch in his breath as he inhales. You feel his hand on the small of your back slide down just a bit. When the song ends he will let you go and you are doing your best to catalog every moment, every sensation, to remember on the nights when you need comfort the most. 

The two of you sway together in time to the music and it’s easy for the few other couples around you to melt away. For a few blissful minutes there is only you and him, his hand in yours, the beat of his heart under his chest, and you feel like you can finally breathe. The omnipresent weight on your shoulders that you’ve become so used to is lifted, and you only notice how heavy it is when it is gone. There is no fear, no anxiety, no guilt. 

Only peace. Only him. 

The song fades away to silence and you both slowly come to a stop. You raise your head and meet his gaze and there is something in his eyes you have never seen before. 

Hunger. 

He does not let you go. Instead, he leans in. You lean in too before you can even stop yourself, eyes closing, but he only wants to whisper into your ear. 

“We should head up to our room.”

Still half-immersed in your own fantasies, before your better judgement can push through and scream at you to get away from him before you do something you will never be able to take back, you nod. 

His hand on the small of your back never seems to leave you as he guides you both through the crowd. The din of conversation and music starting back up, a livelier tune than the last one you danced to, fades as you slip up the stairs to the second floor of the inn. No words are exchanged between you as you enter your room, the noise of the tavern finally fading into silence as the door closes behind you.

A moment passes between the two of you. Then another. He turns to face you and you are between him and the door and even if you don’t want to leave, knowing that you could is a small comfort. 

You break the silence with his name. Low and whispered. A question. A prayer. 

He takes your face in his hands.

“Don’t hate me,” he murmurs, as if you ever could. As if every part of you isn’t coiled tight, tense and eager and so incredibly scared that the slightest wrong move will ruin this moment. 

He leans in and you meet him halfway, eyes closing as he kisses you, and your mind goes blissfully quiet. 

That night is a blur of his hands and mouth, of his body pressed to yours. It is you both frantically undressing each other. It is him taking your hand and leading you to the bed. It is you adjusting to the moonlight that streams into the room, that throws half of him into sharp relief as he leans over you, yellow eyes bright and shining in the darkness. It is him exploring every inch of you that he can reach, and you opening up to him. Responding to every touch as he wrings sounds you haven’t made in years out of you, as he presses kiss after kiss to your skin, as he murmurs encouragement and praise. 

“So good. Wanted this for so long, Cay—”

You are clutching him close and reaching for the right words, for a way to tell him that he is so much more than you could ever have hoped to deserve, so much better than you in every possible way, but your pleasure overwhelms you. He holds you, helps you ride through it, chases his own pleasure as more endearments spill from his lips. 

“You feel amazing. You’re perfect, Caleb. So perfect for me.”

He buries himself in you, muffling his cries with his mouth against your neck, nails digging into your skin as he gives you everything he has to give and you give yourself to him in return. 

When it is over he still does not let you go.

 

* * *

 

You wake up surrounded by him. His arms around you. Your face pressed against his chest. Legs entwined together. 

It is only then, sober in the low sunlight beginning to creep into the room, that the fear comes crashing back into you. 

You let him get too close. Closer than you ever thought he would ever even want to be with you. You kick yourself for your own stupidity, for not considering every possible outcome, no matter how unlikely it seemed. 

Your foolishness will get him killed. It is an unavoidable truth, and even in spite of that knowledge you still gave in to your feelings. You gave in to him.

_ How could you not? You have always been weak.  _

Of course all it took was a slow dance and a few honeyed words. You could barely blame the alcohol, the entire night was clear in your memory and everything you did was completely of your own volition. You overestimated your self control. Assumed that you could turn away any advances that someone might make toward you. 

You never accounted for him, or the pull he had on you.

You watch his chest rise and fall and listen to his slow, measured breathing. In the soft light of dawn he is beautiful— face relaxed in sleep, hair mussed and falling over his forehead. 

_ You will ruin him, as you have ruined everyone else. You are not the hero in this story. You are the monster.  _

It is only a matter of time before he finds out the extent of your past. The truth will come out and you will have to admit to what you did. You will recount the full extent of the teachings and the tortures and the cart that you pushed up to your childhood home and set aflame. 

_ He will hate you and it is no more than you deserve. Run before he can wake, before he can realize. Keep him safe. Keep him alive.  _

Dangerous people are after you, people who will hurt the ones you have come to care for most, and you cannot allow that to happen. You cannot have more blood on your hands. You stain everything you touch already. 

You should have seen this coming sooner. 

You ease yourself out of his grasp, trying your best to stay silent as you begin to dress yourself. It is only when you are tightening the waistband of your pants that you realize your hands are trembling, your breath coming in quick gasps. The room feels too warm. Too small. You need to gather your things and get out before the others wake up. Better to leave without a goodbye, better to avoid their questions or allow them to convince you to stay. 

_ May isolation be your punishment. May loneliness be your penance. You will seek out the power to rewrite your history and you will erase yourself from his life and he will be all the happier for it. He cannot miss what he never has. You cannot allow him to tie himself to something so broken. So cursed. So undeserving of him—  _

Fjord stirs. His sudden sharp inhale is the loudest sound in the room as you freeze in place, your shirt hanging loosely in your grasp. 

“Cay?” you hear and his voice is low, thick and scratchy with sleep. 

“I am sorry,” you say, and it sounds as if you’re far away from yourself. As if you’re hearing someone else speak with your voice. “I am sorry, Fjord.”

“Caleb?” You hear more movement from the bed and then he is there, and his hand is on your shoulder. 

_ Unclean. Unworthy of his touch. You’re infecting him, corrupting him— _

“Hey.” His voice is as gentle as his touch. “You’re shakin’ like a leaf. What’s wrong?”

You cannot look at him. If you look at him you will give in. You will not be able to leave, and you will seal his fate, and you have to protect him. 

“I need to go,” you say, gaze planted firmly on the floor. 

“Why?” he asks and there is pain in his voice and the guilt cleaves through you, sharp and terrible, and it nearly leaves you breathless. 

_ No matter what you do he will hurt and it will be your fault—  _

“If it’s because of… If last night… I’m so sorry. If I made you feel like you had to do anything or like I-I was forcing-”

“No,” you say because of all the things he could hurt for, it should never be for giving you the best night you’ve had in a very, very long time. It should never be for giving you one last good memory to cling to before you have to leave behind everything you’ve come to care for. “It isn’t that. I swear.”

_ There is hope in his future and all you will do is take that hope away—  _

“Then what’s wrong?”

You don’t think you could force yourself to say you don’t want him, not when you know it would cause him even more pain. It isn’t worth it to lie. He deserves the truth. It’s the least you can do, the least he deserves from you. 

“I am...no good for you, Fjord. I am no good for any of you. And I have grown far closer than I anticipated.”

_ He will find another. You will be so easily replaced—  _

“No good? Caleb, what d’you mean? Where’s this coming from?”

“It is better for you to go back to bed,” you press on, moving out of his grasp as you slip on your shirt, “and tell the others that I left in the middle of the night.”

“You know I’m not gonna do that. Where are you going?”

“I cannot say.” 

_ He will burn just like all the others—  _

“Cay,” he says and there’s desperation in his voice, and he’s reaching for you, trying to take your hand, and you pull away from his grasp again. “Please, don’t go. At least stay until you’ve calmed down. Until your head’s clear.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes and you curl into yourself, fisting your hands in your hair. “My head is perfectly clear. It has never been clearer that I am going to damn you, just as I have damned everyone I have ever loved. You are safer without me, I can promise you that. Please, Fjord, let me go.” 

For a moment he is silent, and you think he has finally given in. You know you should feel relief, but instead there is only disappointment. Despite everything, you still wanted him to want you. Even if it wasn’t in his best interest. 

But then you hear him move, and then he’s standing in front of you, and you try to shy away from him but his hands take yours and lower them and in a moment of weakness you look up and his eyes— 

His eyes are shining with tears. And there is so much sadness in them, so much compassion and care, and his touch is so gentle, and you feel as though you are nothing but glass in his hands. You would shatter if he dropped you, but he holds on as you continue to shake. 

_ So foolish, so selfish—  _

“Please stay,” he says. “For just one more day. Please.”

One day. You can give yourself a day. One last good day with him. You nod in spite of your better judgement screaming at you to run and hide, and his hands give your a little squeeze, pulling you back towards the bed. As you lay together his arms encircle you once more, and while you do not return to sleep you do close your eyes, drinking in his warmth, his comfort. 

He inspires a sense of calm within you that you have never felt before. In his arms you feel so safe, so cared for, you can barely believe it. You have done nothing to deserve him and yet here he is, caring for you in spite of everything. 

One more day turns to one more week, which turns to one more month, until the urge to flee begins to fade entirely. 

He rooms with you every night. Whether you are out on the road or holed up at an inn or back in your gifted house in Xhorhas, he is there beside you. At first you think he is just preventing you from running away, or that he may want to move past the night you had together. Chalk it up to a moment of passion quickly forgotten. You’re just grateful that he still wants you around at all, even if it is only as a travelling companion. 

Until he reaches out one night, wrapping an arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him in your shared bed. In your half-asleep state you stir, turning over to face him, and he tenses. 

“I-I thought you were-” He starts, looking guilty. “‘M sorry.” 

He starts to pull away but that is truly the last thing you want. You’ve missed his arms around you. You’ve missed him. 

“You can hold me,” you say quickly, barely above a whisper. Quiet enough that if he didn’t catch it, you could take the coward’s way out and pretend you didn’t say that. “If you want.”

“Is that what you want?” he asks, as if that has ever mattered before. But it matters to him, and the thought of that makes your heart twist inside your chest. 

You nod. There is a beat of silence, a moment in which you’re convinced you’ve ruined everything and he’s about to leave and let you run away, but then his arms encircle you again, drawing you close to his chest. 

He does not let you go.

 

* * *

You are Caleb Widogast. 

Protector. Lover. Friend. 

The stains of your misdeeds can never be washed away, but the people you have found make it easier to cope with them. They remind you who you truly are, even on days when you do not believe them. When your head is in the worst possible space, when the instinct to flee rears its head, they are there. 

He is there. 

And he draws you in and holds you close and keeps you safe. 

And your heart has always belonged to him, but you are still shocked when he admits that his belongs to you. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! I know this kind of POV isn't everyone's cup of tea, but thank you if you gave it a chance anyway.
> 
> As always: comments, criticisms, and kudos are appreciated. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3


End file.
